


Waiting at Thresholds

by DraloreShimare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DraloreShimare/pseuds/DraloreShimare
Summary: “Do you know what these kinds of places are called?” Obi-Wan had nearly whispered, and Qui-Gon hadn’t berated him for it.





	Waiting at Thresholds

Qui-Gon rubbed his forehead; the lights in the lobby of this spaceport flickered at almost infinitesimal fractions. If he weren’t a Jedi with highly trained and honed senses, and if it weren’t so dark, he might not have been able to tell. According to the local chronos, his transport had arrived in the middle of the night, and the next wouldn’t depart until long hours from now.

He shifted the pack across his shoulder and shielded his eyes as he scanned the silent lobby. Rows of chairs waited, empty. A cleaning droid brushed in the distant corner, it’s silver shell green with age. A Bothan sprawled over two of the adjustable seats, their own luggage arrayed like a barrier in front of them. A short row of pass windows, selling tickets for commercial transports, were curtained, the electronic banner above them reciting in the most locally used languages, what the usual operating times were.

Abandoned; that’s how the place felt. Abandoned and sitting somewhere just beside reality. As though he’d passed through an unknown door. Obi-Wan had told him the term for such places long ago. What was it? ...

Qui-Gon strolled towards the doors, eyes squinted and gaze inward as he searched for the word.

Ah. Now that he remembered, he could recall the exact memory of having it explained. Obi-Wan, his padawan braid just at his shoulder, hair trying to decide between blonde and red, next to him, picking his own way through the puddles and litter of the alleyway.

“Do you know what these kinds of places are called?” Obi-Wan had nearly whispered, and Qui-Gon hadn’t berated him for it. The silence of the alley in mid-day felt otherworldly. Signs of use; the collection of refuse, trails from rodent-like scavengers, scrapes of duracrete seen through the fungus flowering from the walls... All of these pointed to habitation, making the silence uncanny.

“No,” he’d replied, his voice just as quiet.

“Liminal spaces. Places between places, where it feels as though anything could happen. Some people say things _do_ happen. Shadow people, or portals to other planets or times. Even the dead visiting.”

Qui-Gon frowned; he was reluctant to countenance such things, but there was a feeling of _difference_ in the Force. “We will keep a watch.” 

But nothing had happened that day, or any of the other times they’d wandered through a liminal space. Not in abandoned homes, or closed stores, or eerily quiet Coruscant mid-level streets where the only light was neon but their shadows stretched on into the distance.

Qui-Gon stepped to the window, finally hearing the muffled pouring of rain. Droplets clung to the transparisteel pane, visible only dimly in the shadowy lights from outside and inside. Further across the landing pads, other lights shown blue and green to help guide ships to their proper pads. Focusing outside leant his eyes some rest, and his mind some leeway. If he half-closed them, the shadow of his pack over his shoulder could be the partial shadow of another person. Of Obi-Wan, dead for years now.

“You know, Master. Jedi should not be so attached.” He knew that teasing note.

“Mm. But I am a maverick, Padawan.” Qui-Gon murmured to the ghost in his mind. “I do many things Jedi should not, and don’t do other things Jedi should.”

“Yes. You always have been rebellious. Even as an initiate I would hear tales of Master Jinn and his...escapades.”

He chuckled, the sound blending with that of the deluge outside. “And after you became my Padawan, there were tales of Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi. What a pair, others would say.” His throat tightened, tears blurring his vision at the edges, even the imaginary figure of Obi-Wan to his right. Guilt rose, nipping at him as he whispered, “I wish there were tales of Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi.”

He struggled not to raise his hand to touch the imagined reflection. Obi-Wan grown, his braid beaded more intricately than in life, tucked over his shoulder. The padawan brush-cut grown out and a short, well-groomed beard hiding his dimples. “I wish you were not dead by Maul’s hand. How wondrous you were. Humble. Handsome.”

Oh, did Qui-Gon wish. Wish he’d admitted the depth of his attachment to Obi-Wan before the end. Not to have it reciprocated, but to have it known between them. Love. Admiration. Respect. Pride.

His pride had been the fall of Obi-Wan. Tears overflowed, trickling down his cheeks. “I am sorry, my Obi-Wan. I.” He laughed, suddenly, the sound echoing for mere moments, tears blinding him. Qui-Gon quieted, and continued in a whisper, “I am talking to you, but surely only to myself. Mad in my own delusion. But you comfort me regardless.”

Obi-Wan’s false image grimaced at him, concern flooding his expression. “Partly, I am but what my Master made me. Yet, I am also what _I_ made me, Qui-Gon. What the Force allows for me.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes closed. “Yes. Ever more than what you were taught; your own person. Bright and...beloved.” He swayed forward, leaning his forehead against the transparisteel pane.

“Do you remember?” Obi-Wan’s breath was warm against his neck. “Do you remember when I told you about connecting spaces?”

He nodded. “Mm.” A hand hovered over his hair, before settling, stroking it. He had so much more silver than the last time Obi-Wan had seen him. Did it surprise him?

“No, it doesn’t surprise me. Only worries me, Qui-Gon.”

“Just a circumstance of time,” he muttered against the coarse silk of Obi-Wan’s collar, feeling another arm wrap around his waist, pulling him into Obi-Wan’s lean bulk. 

“I only wish I were the cause,” he replied, wry, and continued to hold him.

“You are. Though not the way I wish you were, my Obi-Wan.” Tears leaked from his closed eyes, wetting the cloth his cheek pressed against. Dry lips kissed the side of his head, and then he was pulled away, his face cupped, and those same lips kissed his forehead. A blessing.

“I know.” Rough fingers combed through the scruff of his unkempt beard, thumbs swiped at the tears under his eyes. “Places connecting places. Anything could happen, my Qui-Gon. I could give you a few well-earned silver hairs. The proper way.”

Qui-Gon’s eyelashes fluttered, though his eyes remained closed. “You’d certainly have to surprise me, Padawan.” He quirked a smile. 

“You’re so sure I can’t?”

“Obi-Wan, you’re talking to an old man,” fingers traced over his cheeks, marking wrinkles marking time. “There is little to surprise me anymore.” And little that he couldn’t imagine.

“I am certain I can, Master.” Qui-Gon smiled at the tone of his voice, stubbornness and amusement all at once.

“Then do so.” He was pulled forward again, tugged downward, ready for anything.

Except the press of Obi-Wan’s lips against his. 

Qui-Gon moaned, low and sad and yearning, returning the kiss, a duet of lips dry and rough from travel. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders, keeping him close. He had finally gone mad, wonderfully hallucinatory. Warm roughspun cloak under his hands, and under that the planes of Obi-Wan’s shoulders and back, familiar and not. Strong arms around him, and a hand gripping the back of his neck under his hair as they continued to kiss. They shifted, bumping noses, before plunging back in. Of course, he couldn’t even imagine a perfect kiss with Obi-Wan. Neither of them were. Had been.

With regret, he pulled away, licking his lips, refusing to open his eyes just yet. The rain, he realized, had stopped pounding in the background, replaced by the slow shuffles of early morning movement. Qui-Gon huffed out a laugh. How long had he stood here with..?

“That wasn’t a surprise, Obi-Wan.” He whispered roughly, remembering that he was imagining but unwilling to let it go quite yet.

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes, my Padawan.” He pinched a bit of fabric between his fingers, locking the sensation in his mind, rubbed one broad hand across Obi-Wan’s back to memorize that as well.

“Then you should open your eyes.”

“If I do, you’ll be gone. Again. I’ll be alone here.” How easily tears sprang to his eyes.

“I promise you won’t, Qui-Gon.” Lips brushed his cheek. “Remember? Spaces connecting places.”

“I don’t -” He jerked his head, an abortive head shake.

“Open your eyes.” 

And he did.


End file.
